


The Journey South

by NeverAgainEvan



Series: My Jon/Myrcella and Jon/Mya Fics [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-19 15:12:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18137408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverAgainEvan/pseuds/NeverAgainEvan
Summary: What-if Myrcella was older and was captured by Stannis on her way to Braavos.





	The Journey South

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me during a boring 9:30 lecture on Psychopathology. I love Myrcella Baratheon, and ship her with Jon. But a lot of her portrayals aren't very multi-dimensional. I wanted a conflicted but clever Myrcella that has a plan instead of being dragged along with the plot a in canon.

Chaos. That is what was going on outside her balcony window. Val and the other spearwives pulled out bone knives out of nowhere.

 

“The door,” Val whispered anxiously. Three spearwives started to block the door way with the limited furniture the room had, a nightstand and three chairs, and a table. How long it’ll last no one knew. It reminded Myrcella of the night the _Valyrian_ attacked her ship the _Seaswift_ on the way to Braavos. Rosamund gripped her arm and Septa Eglantine was trying to get her away from the balcony. But she was so curious.

 

Four groups were fighting down there. Their clothes made them hard to tell them apart, but their positions showed Ella all she needed to know. They fought over a body that was dying fast. She wanted to scream in agony, but nothing came out. Her heart broke and legs felt weak, but she only stared in morbid fascination. Blood seeped out of him like red wine spilt at feasts when father got to rowdy and mother sent her away.

 

Another growl in the strange Old Tongue drew her attention back to battle. Loyal Night’s Watch brothers and wildlings were fighting side by side against the conspirators, who were slowly being surrounded. Queen’s Men were trying to get the body to burn and so was causing chaos among the Brothers and Wildlings who were trying to save the Lord Commander before he died. But the main issue was the usual gentle giant still going berserk. He threw a man in full plate armor with one backslap. He was joining the fight but fighting the Queen’s Men. In doing so left the entrance to Hardin’s Tower unguarded.

 

Her blood froze when a Queen’s knight looked up and saw her, he gathered four men and approached the tower.

 

She found her voice then, “Ser Arys,” she called through the barricaded door. “Ser Lambert is coming with four men!” She heard Ser Arys and her remaining Red Cloaks draw their swords.

 

“Why is this happening,” Rosamund shrieked when Wun Wun growled loudly. Ella had no answer for her. She thought the handsome and solemn Lord Commander was loved by his men, but obviously a small amount didn’t. He would always come to the tower at night to make sure all the women were safe and secure.

 

Jon had often talked to her, somedays he seemed to seek her out. She thought he saw her as a lifeline to time before war. She saw him as that and much more, but he had vows.

 

She shook her head. “I hope it gets settled soon,” the screams of men dying and Wun Wun’s growls grew louder as though she were amidst the battle herself. Then the sounds were outside their chambers. Three men against five was not the best of odds, but one was a knight of the Kingsguard.

 

She heard the tell-tale sound of weapons of war clashing against each other and wooden shields. “ _Old Oak_! _For the princess_!” She heard Ser Arys charge. An axe head broke a gap in the door, Myrcella knew the old door would not last long. Rosamund screamed and hid behind Septa Eglantine, who suddenly had an ornate dagger in hand, “Curse Stannis the Usurper, and his demon worshipping wife!” Ella never heard Eglantine sound so angry.

 

As Rolder screamed Val handed her an extra bone knife. The meaning was not lost on her. She had never felt so afraid.

 

Dorden the Dour broke through door and table in savage glory. Plate armor glistening in candlelight, axe in one hand and sword in the other. “Step _away_ wildling whores,” he spat as Val and the others began to surround him. “I only want the bastard princess.”

 

“Her? You want to rape a child?” Septa Eglantine and Val were disgusted. Dorden released a bitter laugh as Eglantine put herself between her and him.

 

“If I defile her then I marry her. Then I become king,” he cut off Freya’s hand as she attacked.

 

“You would betray Stannis,” she called out over Freya’s screams and Rolder’s whimpers and the sounds of battle.

 

“ _Stannis’s days are done_!” he violently kicked Val down, stabbed another spearwife in the gut. Took a stab to the leg and smashed the pommel of his axe in Gerra’s face. Val was crawling backwards and only one spearwife remained, Gyda, she held out her spear threating. Dorden broke it with his axe when she stabbed at him like a tiny stick. “Die,” was all he said when he slashed at Gyda, decapitating her. Ella screamed for the first time that night. Blood splattered on her face and she closed her eyes.

 

She thought about her gardens in the Red Keep full of Dragon’s Breaths, Black Lotuses, Goldencups, blue and red roses, and her favorite a small hedge of Winter Roses. She thought about the godswood in the Red Keep, the old oak there. Tommen’s smiles when he did something he didn’t think he could do. She saw her mother’s smile when Myrcella took her first steps, Robert sitting her on his lap when he was sober; Robert roaring, slaps flying, Joffrey’s touches, Uncle Jaime leaving mother’s rooms late at night, the sounds they made. Joffrey hitting Tommen, Uncle Tyrion and Joffrey‘s subtle threats. It was all too much.

 

When the room went silent, she never noticed. “Open wide princess,” Dorden mocked dourly. “Look at what I got little princess.” She shook her head rigidly. _My eyes won’t open, I don’t want to open them!_ “Open them you incestuous _bastard_!” When she felt more blood splatter on her did, she open them. Horror was her first thought. No, it must be a nightmare, it could not be real.

 

Rosamund’s lifeless eyes stared up at her contorted in dread, Val still clambering away as Ser Lambert enters, bodies everywhere. But the terror of them all was Septa Eglantine’s butchered body.

 

“Why? What did she ever do to you?” she croaked out, throat suddenly raw. Dorden looked up from cutting Eglantine’s arm off, her last attached limb. He was something out of Tyrion’s monster stories. He smiled and a thick cut from lip to ear made his smile longer.

 

“She cut me,” he mumbled somewhat stupidly. “I’m tired don’t struggle.” He staggered to her reaching out, but before he could grab her, Ser Arys stumbled in holding a grievous wound to his side.

 

“Stop,” was his wheezed call. Dorden slowly turned and Lambert jerked his head from where he was ripping Val’s dress off.

 

“Thought you were dead,” Lambert remarked stoically. “No matter. You’re not long for this world anyway.” He chuckled at Ser Arys’s wound. “Hope you freeze in the Great Other’s hell.”

 

“Not today I will, and if so,” Ser Arys lifted his longsword and stood strong. “I will not be alone. _OLD OAK_!” He came forward with a heavy slash that cut off Ser Lambert’s arm as he struggled to unsheathe his sword. By the time Ser Arys turned to Dorden, Dorden was lumbering to him. Ser Arys met him with a two-handed parry and twisted and slashed at Dorden’s face, but he leaned back. Dorden roared and slashed with both his axe and sword but Arys met both off them in stride. Over and over Dorden struck but Arys held his line, moving back when needed but never striking. Myrcella realized he was trying to wear Dorden out before he succumbed to his wounds.

 

Dorden stepped back when Arys’s sword came forward, but it came forward slowly. When the point touched the ground, Ella knew, she knew he was no longer for this world. Dorden was breathing heavily and slouching in his heavy plate armor.

 

“By the gods, he died standing, gods,” Dorden sounded awed. “By the gods, what a – “He never finished his sentence as Val rammed Eglantine’s dagger in the back of his neck. Dorden turned with a grey face surprised. He tried a futile cut at Val, but she edged away. Dorden fell to his knees then. Mouth moving but no sound came, only a torrent of blood. It fascinated Myrcella and awakened a rage in her she never felt.

 

Then she heard the repulsive crying of Ser Lambert rolling in the rushes clutching his upper arm where his arm was cut off. _He kills but can’t handle his own pain._ A crow called outside, “die,” it croaked. “die, cry, kill.” Her blood boiled as she watched Val walk towards Ser Lambert, in a burst of energy Myrcella got in front of her.

 

Val glared, “Move kneeler,” as Ella grabbed her wrist. Val tried to pry her fingers off, but Ella was to quick. She had seen enough disbarments from Uncle Jaime to twist Val’s wrist. She snatched her dagger and rushed Ser Lambert awkwardly in her dress and skidded to her knees and stabbed. Her mind went blank, she heard yelling and screams, blood gushed her, but her mind was blank. She let out all her pain and anger on Lambert. _Joffrey!_ Stab. _Mother!_ Stab. _Uncle Stannis!_ Stab. _Uncle Jaime!_ Stab. _Ser Dorden!_ Stab. _The Night’s Watch traitors!_ Rang the most as she stabbed.

 

Later when Gerra, Val, and spearwives from the other rooms pulled her off they said she was screaming like an animal and drenched in blood. All she remembered was stabbing Ser Lambert before she lost consciousness.

 

She dreamed of sunny days in King’s Landing when she never feared the cold ever. But when night came thousands of crows flew from the north, others ran, but Myrcella couldn’t. Her mother, father, Jaime, Stannis, Joffrey, Renly, Robb, and little Tommen were pecked till only bones and blood remained. One crow was perched on the old oak in the godswood. He had a third eye and it was intelligent.

 

When she awoke, the morning sun was shining through the shutters and she was in an unfamiliar room. Smaller than her chambers and seemingly ground level. Ella feared she was being imprisoned till she turned her head and saw a gigantic white direwolf opening his eyes, studying her with his peculiar red eyes. When he saw she was just stirring he closed his eyes again. As she pried the furs off her she saw she was in an unfamiliar woolen shift, she saw a heavy black fur cloak hung up near the door, she took it as she left the room. She stepped out of the room into a solar.

 

There was a ghost slouching in a hard-back chair, seemingly staring at nothing and everything with a glazed look in his eyes. All she could do was stare, he never noticed anyway. Tears were forming in her eyes, happiness permeated her guilt and loss. He still hadn’t noticed her, _brooding likely,_ twirling a letter in his hand. After shock was gone, she ran to him. She caught him off guard, he tensed and seemed ready to attack her. But she did not care, he was a lifeline to better days, cold and lovely mornings at Winterfell. His brooding presence beside Robb and Bran showing her and Tommen around the grounds. Dark and lonely nights in cold, quiet towers. Surprisingly he began to hug her back, when she felt tears on her cheek, she did not react but held him tighter. “I saw you die,” she mumbled into his ear, he trembled slightly.

 

“I should be,” he said softly, then groaned when she held even tighter. “Sorry princess I am not fully healed yet.” She released him but sat in his lap, he looked uncomfortable, but he was the only person she knew from before the war here, all the rest died in that tower at the hands of Uncle Stannis’s men. And her heart soared every time she looked at him. She remembered liking Robb with his easy grin and clear Tully blue eyes and red hair that fell to his ears.

 

But Jon with his dark brown cut short and unusual stubble on his usually clean-shaven face, grey eyes with purple flecks and his high cheekbones and full lips and face set in perpetual brooding had stolen her heart. “I’m sorry for your losses princess, I did not know them well, but if Val’s words are true, they died most honorably.”

 

She wanted to cry into his shoulder and stay there forever, but she was a lioness like her mother, and she refused to be a sniveling maiden getting nothing done. “They still died, and their attackers died too,” she said acrimoniously. He studied her eyes. “How are you alive? I watched so much blood leave your body,” her body involuntarily shivered at the memory and she cursed it. She had questioned softly and studied him with her eyes, but he looked hesitant to answer. She decided to use her mother’s training. She moved up his lap so more. “Are you an imposter, my lord?” She gasped dramatically, for effect and the feeling of his crotch. “A wight perhaps.” She touched him all over and he smiled at her. “No, you are too warm to be a wight, and no one else has eyes like you my lord.” Their faces were so close, his breath on her nose and his grey-purple eyes looked black and blown.

 

He chuckled. It felt right to feel it on her nose. “Faced many wights have you princess?”

 

“Yes, of course.” She felt so childish again, like when she played with Tommen. “I chased them all across the lands beyond-the-wall with my Valyrian sword, the Nagger.” He laughed then, she had nagged him numerous times, and always got her way.

 

“I’ve been on the end of that sword, not a pleasant companion.” He leaned closer but then the door opened. She didn’t back off but turned her head to scrutinize who interrupted them. Jon’s steward Dolorous Edd and Melisandre and Tormund stared at them in the doorway. Edd looked more haggardly then she remembered. “Food to break your fast my lord and princess,” he said gravely. “Not much and the soup is greasy, but better then being dead.” He placed the tray down and began to speak on how his mom said any meal is better than dying. Death has no taste.

 

“And you have guests my lord, the priestess playing god and a roaring drunk.”

 

She giggled and Tormund laughed, but Melisandre ignored it all. Jon gestured for them all to seat. The three took the only three other chairs in the room leaving her to stay in Jon’s lap. _But I don’t mind at all._ She gripped his thigh lightly.

 

“Princess,” Melisandre called. “R’hllor is truly great, he has awoken you from your long slumber.” Her queer red eyes studied her, and it made Ella’s skin crawl.

 

“Long slumber?” Ella looked at Jon incredulously who was eating bacon (and ignoring Melisandre). He glanced at her, “Aye, you’ve been asleep for four days. With no maester we were unsure of what was wrong. I need you to eat.” She just now noticed her stomach, she grabbed a piece of bacon and ate her full.

 

“Har! How many girls you gonna steal King Crow! Har!” Tormund laughed uproariously at Ella and Jon. She was slightly confused but Jon blushed. She felt a slight stirring under her thigh and tried to ignore but she blushed as well. Tormund mocked Jon good-naturedly for a short while till Jon asked Edd what the news was.

 

Edd said that Queen Selyse and her whole retinue was leaving for Winterfell, thank the gods. Melisandre was here to convince Jon to go, Myrcella learned Jon was dead but then resurrected somehow. The red priestess believes Jon has magic in his blood and the dragon that appeared in his funeral pyre speaks to it. He continues to ignore her. For his benefit or because he doesn’t trust her, she didn’t know. Tormund claimed many Free Folk see him as god now and are making effigies in his image. While others see him as Mance's successor or Mance reborn. Jon grunted at that.

 

The best information Edd had is that after investigating the conspirators they found the original letter sent by King Stannis in Bowen Marsh’s solar and the Bastard of Bolton’s letters as well. The whole conflict was a farce designed to insure Jon declared his intentions to fight the Boltons and in doing so broke his vows. Myrcella vowed to never have Jon make the face he made at hearing that ever again so help her by the old and new gods. The original letter also stated that Ramsey Bolton had fled the Battle of Winterfell with close to a retinue of two hundred men.

 

Then Edd solemnly stated that they hanged (and burned) twenty other brothers who were apart of the conspiracy, just too craven to participate in the assassination. Their names were signed on a parchment saying that Jon was a false lord commander and if he was gone the throne would support them. Unsurprisingly, many of the names were Lannister loyalists. Ella understood the schematics of the treason, but Jon had a face that could tell anyone how perplexed he was about the amount of planning had gone into his assassination.

 

After that piece of information was said, Jon ordered them all to leave. As Ella got up after the door closed behind Edd and the guests, she headed to the bedchambers Jon grabbed her wrist roughly. Then roughly pulled her back to him. Into his lap and chest.

 

“I should hate you,” he whispered, gently moving a curl from her face. “Your family has destroyed both of my families, I have no one left.” He cupped her cheek. “But every time I look into your eyes princess. I see what I can be, the best I can be.”

 

“Both of your families,” her breath hitches. “Have you learned of your mother?” She’s excited for him.

 

But the sadness in his eyes aches at her.

 

“Aye.” He looks out the window for a long while. She squeezes his shoulder comfortingly. “Lyanna.” She gasps, at first thinking that the curse her parents have is common, but then she remembers her histories.

 

“Death has all the answers. A three-eyed raven showed me my birth, he told me I had to know, Bran was there with him.” He sounded haunted and empty.

 

She felt empty too, half expecting Septa Eglantine to burst in telling her to stop taking up the Lord Commander’s time and Rosamund behind her, smiling about a jape at her expense. They have both been hurt lately, and she felt that it made them stronger for it. She couldn’t wallow in sorrow and brood, she must be the smiling one. Just like at court.

 

So, she plowed through her feelings, _I always do._ To show this young melancholic man who had shown nothing but respect for her, who showed her his so beautiful smile that was so rare, that he was not alone, _if he’s here I’m not alone either._

 

She was so close to him she put her forehead to his. “My last dragon,” she breathed, she needed something. “My dragon prince.”

 

Then he broke.

 

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” he sobbed. “Why would he never tell me?”

 

“You’re Jon Snow, my dragon prince,” she was practically straddling him now. “Who cares who your parents are, I know who you are.”

 

“A bastard is what I am. A bastard of an overthrown dynasty. My only family left to me I sent away for his safety and he never knew who I was, and an aunt thousands of leagues away.” He looked angry. “I’m still a nobody, a bastard.”

 

“So what am I,” she questioned sharply. “The bastard product of incest. A fake princess. Joffrey and Tywin are dead, mother has left me for dead, Tommen is a false king, and my father-uncle, uncle-father or whatever was lost last I heard.” She grabbed his chin. “I’m lost, you’re lost.” Their eyes bore into each other. “I’m a bastard, you’re a bastard.” She leaned in close. “Don’t say you are a nobody, then what does that make me? The one who loves the nobody.” The kiss was pure fire, and it felt like fates aligned, the seasons were perfect, and spring had bloomed in her chest.

 

She nipped at his mouth, he took control then and slipped his tongue inside. She was glad he was the first person she kissed like this.

 

There was one boy Rolf Haywood though, Lord Tywin’s cupbearer then squire, she slightly wondered if the half-Ironborn was a knight yet or if he had died the same as many in the war.

 

But thoughts of Rolf ended when Jon’s hand treaded her curls and lovingly pulled on them. She moaned into his mouth. She felt like a septa only touching his shoulders while Jon caressed her curls and his other was on her hip like a brand. Her hands went into his hair and tugged at the curls of dark brown, her other went around his neck. She moved her hips to alleviate the ache below.

 

He pulled back after an intense tongue battle for dominance he let her win. He then lifted out of the chair and with him came her. She giggled, as he kept her steady by a firm grip on her arse. He went into his bedchambers and softly put her on the bed.

 

They slowly undressed each other till they were as naked as their nameday. His eyes never left hers. Once his shirt was gone, she saw the silvery scars the traitors left on her Dragon Prince, her pup, her king. _But she kept that thought to herself. Her pup should be king, all kings should be as kind and strong as him._ She crawled towards him and kissed and licked every single one, when she was done, Jon looked in awe and love at her. “On your back princess,” he softly commanded and she scrambled to comply.

 

When he plied her legs apart, he looked like a direwolf who had caught his prey and was ready to feast. And FEAST he did! _By the gods,_ her hand could never come close to this level of pleasure. She scratched her fingers in his hair to gain more friction, her legs pincered his head. She came with a cry of joy, and as she lay limbless, he still gobbled her up. She was so sensitive she came again, even harder. But still he didn’t stop, she was too raw and sensitive that she had to crawl from him after a long broad stroke from the bottom to the apex of her core right on her sensitive nub.

 

He looked abashed but proud. His face was soaked, she felt soaked. She opened her legs, stretched her arms to signal him to come, and as he settled between her holy grail, she opened her heart. He pushed into her with a grunt, whispering sweet nothings as she settled in the pain of her maidenhood breaking. He stayed nestled in her till she griped his back and her left leg wrapped around him. Then he pumped in and out of her. She felt glorious once the pain subsided and a new pleasure, similar to his tongue but distinctly different coursed through her blood. If this is what sex is like, then she can understand her father’s whoring and mother’s midnight trysts with uncle. When he changed angle, she moaned and clawed his back for a life line.

 

He was experienced, her intuition told her; the strokes, his hands like brands everywhere, and his reluctance to cum before her. She saw stars when she came this time as he changed angle again, this time hitting a spot that made her cum instantly. He noticed and kept at that angle before he coated her womb in his seed.

 

He slumped down over her, face in her neck, covered in sweat that coated each other. It was warmness that the cold air couldn’t touch. Soon she was crying, and he was too. Crying for loss and the feeling of abandonment. Soon their crying slowed, and she noticed his flaccid cock was still in her. “If only Ned Stark and Cersei Lannister could see us now,” he japed horribly. Surprising her, she giggled. It was bad, very bad. But the imagery of Lord Stark’s face twisted into horrified solemnity and eyes embarrassed, and her mother’s jade fury and indignation, made her laugh and that made Jon laugh.

 

“What should we do now, my dragon?”

 

He lifted his face and studied her seriously. “We sleep,” then grinned lopsidedly. It was so pure Jon her heart ached.

 

She slapped the back of his head. “No, you dimwit. I mean are we going to stay here? Go to Winterfell? Any plans?” She was curious, she knew Jon had no desire to stay with men who betrayed him or go to Winterfell where a Baratheon ruled where his family once laughed and played.

 

But where could two royal bastards go unmolested? Once Jon walked out of the pyre with the flame making a dragon, word was sure to spread fast. She never understood how a sparsely populated land had information pass so fast, but Jon told her that there were more people in the North then southrons understand and that she was looking at the land with intent to find homes and people, but not signs of people. Once she did on a ride to pass time, she saw more than fifty people who shied from her and her guards.

 

“I’ve been having a recurring dream for the last couple of nights,” he wasn’t going to elaborate she knew. So, she stared at him unflinchingly till he did. “There’s a murder of crows, the one leading it has three eyes. It crows riddles at me.” He gulps. “The three-eyed crow says, ‘to go north one must go south, to fight ice one needs ice, to find yourself one needs to find peace, let the child die Aemon, be a man and do your duty.’ Or something like that, it’s all fuzzy.”

 

“Your true name is Aemon,” she says surprised.

 

“That’s what you get out of that mess,” he chuckled.

 

“Just throwing a bone is what you did,” she kissed him. His eyes grew focused. “I think he wants you to be a prince, ‘be a man and do your duty.’” She mocked his rough accent, he lavished her neck at that,

 

“Then what is my duty, princess?” He latched on to her breast and suckled it. “Stannis won’t like that I have a better claim then him. He may like me, I think, but I’m sure once word reaches him, he will hunt me down.”

 

“He won’t,” she sighed. “Seen as Mance reborn and a god to many Free Folk as Tormund said and raised by Ned Stark, he would alienate his whole kingdom if he tried to kill you.” He looked up surprised. “Surprised Jon?”

 

“You are smart,” he said in awe. “How do you know how people will react?”

 

“You learn a lot at court when people ignore you,” she smiled at him. “I think this raven wants you to do what a prince does and rule.”

 

“I have no kingdoms or people,” he sighed tiredly. The room was dark now, the sun setting while they made love.

 

“Go to Winterfell and see. Your cousin Arya is there, and you and she were close.”

 

“Aye, you’re right. I need to make sure she is safe.”

 

“We should sleep, I want to leave tomorrow, I don't want to stay here,” he then did the exact opposite and hot hard again. Sticky with her juices and thick against her thigh.

 

“Aye,” she mocked and pouted, he kissed the pout away.

 

“I love it when you pout,” he said between kisses and entered her again. This time it was so slow it was agonizingly pleasurable. When they were done, she threw the furs over them and Jon pulled her close. She snuggled into him. But her eyes were open. Her mind was fixated on her vengeance. Stannis will think nothing of the attack on her. But she hasn’t forgotten. She would destroy him, for Septa Eglantine and Rosamund, her only friends. Her anger was all consuming, what luck was that the man she fell in love with had the ability to kill him and destroy all he stood for.

 

Then after Stannis, there was mother and uncle. She would see them all dead no matter how much their deaths pained her. They all abandoned her. So she will abandon them in her and Aemon’s new dynasty and kingdom. With a plan forming, she closed her eyes.

 

When she dreamed this time, there was no crows eating kings, but a dragon burning Casterly Rock and Storm’s End. And silver haired purple eyed babies suckling at her breast while she sat the iron throne. Gazing emotionlessly as people who ignored her or abused her before groveled at her feet. Jon cutting off their heads because she says so. She won’t be king, but she would be the true ruler of Westeros.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a short series but became a one-shot. Might still be a series i'm tired currently with class and work.


End file.
